That Voice
by mmouse15
Summary: Challenge fic: bedroom voice. One 'bot fantasizes about another. Pairing within.


Title : That Voice  
Pairing(s) : for greater impact, I've put it in the author's notes at the bottom.  
Rating : M  
Warnings: mech masturbation, unrequited crush, spark manipulation

This was written for mech_erotica's Sept 08 Challege: Bedroom Voice

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I walked into my office and threw the datapads on the desk, then sat in my chair with a loud venting of air. Once again, a meeting had turned into an exercise in self-control. Why did it have to be this way? I buried my face in my hands, trying to resist my urges. It seemed that every meeting turned into a division of my processor; part of it focused on whatever situation we were discussing, part of it working the problem and striving for the solution that would cause the Autobots the least amount of damage, and the final shameful part hiding my reaction. I groaned again, my faceplates heating. The situation had gotten so much worse in the past quarter-vorn, since our missing commander and his crew had awoken on a small backwater planet and the war had moved from its holding pattern back into high gear. The desperate need for energy in any form that we could turn into energon to supply our troops was the over-arching basis for the continuation of the war, but the past 40,000 vorns had been mostly quiet, a holding pattern reached when both sides had realized that their individual commanders were gone, probably together based upon their final transmissions, and lost to any easy searches. Shockwave had fallen back upon his primary reason de entre and was guarding Cybertron, trying to keep everything the same and without change, whereas Elita One was fighting for the survival of the Autobot faction. An uneasy truce was practiced, but that was blown away by the reanimation of the long-lost leaders and the war was once again in full swing.

I shook these thoughts out of my processor, attempting to focus my attention on the datapads in front of me. I sorted the datapads, then re-sorted them, finally realizing that I was not going to be able to process their information while the majority of my processor was occupied with other…matters. I locked my door and leaned back in my chair, one hand moving to my leg, the other to my chest. I began to stroke the long panels of my upper leg, my fingers finding the seams and teasing the wires and circuits beneath the plates. The hand on my chest moved to my shoulder, stroking the Autobot symbol there, which was incredibly sensitive given the nature of my thoughts. A whimper escaped my vocalizer and I off-lined it, not needing anyone that might be lurking in the corridor to hear my cries. I traced the edges of my faction symbol, feeling my plates heat as the light touches started my engine rumbling. I stroked my leg with firmer touches, moving to the other leg and repeating the strokes that opened my plates and allowed for manipulation of the sensitive wires hidden beneath them. I moved from my shoulder to my chest plates, teasing around the windshields that made up my Earth-mode disguise. I sank further back into my chair, spreading my legs and finding a new balance as I continued to pleasure myself. I was finally at the point when I had no shame, and I began to play my latest recording, taken at the meeting just a half-groon ago. As the voices filled my processor, I tuned out all the others and focused on one. His voice, so deep and rich, carrying the weight of an entire people, was my biggest problem, the source of my distraction but also the answer. Before he'd been lost for so long, I was sure that I hadn't been so focused on him. I hadn't seen him as anything but a superior officer, someone to obey and follow. Since he'd come back, however, I was in love with his voice, the rolling syllables, the compassion inherent in every word he spoke. My lower hand moved to my groin, beginning to tease at the sensitive components under panels. As I grew more excited, the panels loosened and allowed my fingers to slide under their edges, brushing against the nodes and in-built circuits on their undersides. My upper hand slid under the plates that looked like windshields but in reality were the extremely tough covers for my spark. As these chest panels were teased, they loosened and began to shift, moving down and toward my sides, allowing my fingers to start stroking the curls of energy lifting from my spark. I caught the strands gently and began to play with them, listening to that voice and imagining it was his hand that was stroking my spark, teasing my plating and whispering in my audio receivers. I tuned out the words he was speaking and listened to the tone, the deep intonation that had my spark leaping in excitement toward the hand stroking it. I couldn't hold off my overload for very long, given how excited I had been before I even began to tease myself. The electrical impulses began rolling through my body and my hand clenched on the strands of my spark just as his voice lowered, deepened. My hand moved further into the spark energy, brushing against the glowing orb and triggering a second, longer overload. I curled around the hand in my spark, the hand between my legs continuing its stroking and prolonging the incredible release roiling through my systems. I slumped over, resting my head against the desktop as I panted, attempting to cool my overheated frame. All my fans were working hard, wisps of steam escaping my torso from the energy I had generated. That voice continued to murmur through my processor, giving me the illusion that he was helping me to calm down, bringing me back to my own reality, the duties and responsibilities of my position.

After a breem I was able to sit up. My recording was still running, and I stopped it, waiting for a time when he wasn't speaking. I couldn't help it, I would take any time to listen to his voice, to feel his gentle spirit come through every word he spoke, the generosity of his being spread like a warm tendril of energy through every word and gesture. His voice rose and fell, the measured weight of his words feeding my own spirit with a resolve to be there for him, to support him in his endeavors and to do my very best to be a help and not a hindrance for him. Some called me self-sacrificing, but I really wasn't. I was sacrificing for him, for that voice that moved me, the spirit that came through in his words and moved me to be greater that I really was.

That voice…he doesn't know what he does to me with that voice.

Optimus.

A/N: I was thinking of Ultra Magnus as I wrote this, but it could be almost anybody in the Autobot officer's ranks. So:

Pairing: Ultra Magnus/Optimus Prime


End file.
